Steel Magic (10 page)

But only for the moment. From the hedges and fields there were rustlings, the sounds of many voices crying out in surprise and thanksgiving. Where the animals had swarmed to help in Greg's battle now moved men and women who stared dazedly at their own hands and feet, felt their bodies, looked at each other in amazement and joy.

The knight, his horse once again under control, came pounding up. On his face there was a wild elation.

“The Witch of the Mountains is naught!” he shouted. “Behold the ruler of the Stone Waste is gone from Avalon and with her dies the evil she has done! One of the enemy is vanquished. Rejoice you people, freed from the spell of the night.”

O
n the sea island Eric stood with his feet deeply buried in the mass of dried stuff which formed the huge nest. He had to flounder a step or two farther to lay hands on the spoon. And it was tough wading, for his weight broke through the brittle stuff easily and gave him no steady footing. All he wanted to do was retrieve the spoon and get back to the safety of the ledges.

But Eric could not help noticing that there were odd things caught in the material of the untidy nest. A chain of gold was laced back and forth in a bundle of dried grass. Near it was a piece of tattered and faded cloth still bearing an embroidered device.

He had hold of the spoon now and tried to work it free of the sticks. But its bowl seemed to be so wedged into a hollow that he could not pull it loose. At last he was forced to tear at the mass with his hands, throwing aside wads of grass and broken branches.

It was very hot in the cup-shaped valley under the full rays of the sun and Eric paused now and again to rub his sleeve across his sweating face. The dust and grit he had stirred up in his job of destruction powdered his sweaty skin, got in his eyes and mouth. But he worked on, determined to free the spoon.

At first he thought there was a cloud lowering overhead when a shadow crossed the nest. But a sense of danger warned him and he looked up, only to cower frantically down into the wreckage he had made.

Earlier he had tried to imagine what kind of bird had built that nest. Now he knew. But to see it alive was worse than to picture it in his mind. And could that monster be only a bird? For what kind of bird had a scaled rather than a feathered head? Yet it did have feathers, black feathers, on its body, and those giant wings which flapped in thunderclaps of sound as it circled the island were fashioned like a bird's, if on a huge scale.

Eric dug at the mass of nest under him, hoping to burrow into hiding until the bird was gone. For he was very sure if he attempted to reach the open ledges he would be exposing himself to instant attack. That scaled head was armed with the curved beak of a hunter, and the feet, drawn up to its body as it flew, were taloned.

He was holding to the spoon, and at last at his frantic tug it loosened, uprooting a vast heap of the nest material. Eric threw himself into that evil-smelling hollow. The original foundation of the huge nest had been laid across a depression. As he jumped, this foundation splintered, disclosing a
small cleft in the rock floor beneath. Eric poked the spoon into this, having no wish to fall to the sea caves below. But the metal rang on rock, finding a bottom to the crevice a few feet down.

A screech from overhead—a shriek such as a diving jet might have made—set Eric to pushing and squeezing into the hole, raking his shoulders, tearing his shirt. But he was safely flattened in the rock-walled crevice when the bird-thing landed, deafening him with wild squawks.

It was the very fury of the bird which saved Eric. For it tore at the nest, and the mass of stuff it dislodged fell across the hole, covering him. He lay there, his mouth dry, his hands shaking on the handle of the spoon. Shivering, he waited for the covering to be scratched aside, and claw or beak to pluck him out. Once a talon scraped across the rock surface just above him. But the crevice saved him from discovery.

Only, how long could he stay there? The loose stuff was being torn and tossed about, so a measure of air reached him. But that was limited. And if he moved he would be seen.

With his hands Eric began to explore the narrow space in which he lay. Its width was hardly more than that of his shoulders, but it was longer than he was tall. Deeper, too, than he had first thought, for small trash from the nest had sifted into it. He was pressed down upon small branches, powdery vegetation which smelled of decay.

Eric began to dig this from under him. From sounds he could tell that the bird was still searching for him, but in such a mindless way that Eric began to believe it was a stupid
creature. If that dim wit led to its forgetting him quickly, he had a good chance at escape.

Meanwhile he cleared a passage along the crevice, pushing the loose trash behind him with his feet. Then his head bumped an obstruction not so easily moved. Eric explored by touch, discovering this was no branch, for he fingered the smoothness of metal which curved sleekly.

When he tugged, the object yielded, but also he brought disaster on himself, for the whole brush heap heaved. And the bird could not have been as stupid as Eric hoped, as there was an answering flurry above. Eric gasped and choked as dust filled his mouth and blinded his eyes.

Then the whole mass over him was raked away. Eric blinked watering eyes up at the bird head curving down to him the beak open. Fortunately the head had to turn to one side before it was in striking range. Eric swung up the spoon in a last wild try at defense.

That beak struck the metal bowl with enough force to smash it back against Eric's body, driving most of the air out of his cramped lungs. He lay scarlet-faced and gasping, waiting numbly for a second blow.

When that did not come he edged about, trying to rise from the crevice. Though his eyes smarted from the dust, he could see more clearly now—until a violent flapping of the wings stirred the litter into a murky storm cloud.

The bird, its wings beating frantically, was shaking its head from side to side. And there was something odd about that head, too, though the creature's jerky movements kept
Eric from a close examination. He got to his feet, the spoon held up before him.

A second time the head darted down. Eric, with all the energy he could summon, swung the spoon as he might a bat. The improvised club met the head squarely with an impact which crumpled Eric to his knees. Then the wings beat, lifting the creature into the air above the bowl. It made no sound and its head bobbed limply on its breast. Up and up it climbed and Eric stood to watch it. Was it going to strike at him from that height? Only the loosely dangling head, the now faltering beat of the wings, made him hope he had had the better of their meeting.

The birds were rising from the ledges to join the creature. But not for long did they escort it. The great wings clapped for the last time, closed against the half-feathered, half-scaled body, and the thing fell toward the sea. That it was dead, or at least mortally wounded, Eric no longer doubted.

Keeping the spoon in the crook of his arm for safety, he wiped the dust and dirt from his face. He was not sure yet just how it had happened, or why the bird had died. What Huon had told them of iron being poison to those of Avalon must be true. And he was grateful for that.

The walls of the crevice, uncovered for a good length by the bird's last efforts, were waist-high about him and Eric started to climb out, eager to reach the spring on the ledge and rinse the dust from his mouth and throat. But there was something looped about his ankle and he stooped to free it.

He was holding a strap of leather, old, but well oiled and
still limber, and it had small gold stars and symbols he did not understand set into it. It could not have been hidden there long. When he pulled he discovered it was anchored to something still wedged in the wreckage of the nest.

Eric scooped away the sticks with the spoon handle. Metal gleamed up at him, not gold this time but silver, banding a duller white. He had uncovered a horn of ivory and silver.

Shaking it free, Eric held his find up to the light of day. It could not have lain long in concealment for the silver was not tarnished. A horn! Huon's horn! He had found one of the lost talismans.

Tempted, Eric rubbed the mouthpiece on his sleeve and put it to his lips. But he did not blow. There was something about the horn which was not of the world he knew. Telling himself that a call might bring another of the giant birds, Eric slung the strap over his shoulder and clawed his way back through the debris to the ledge spring where he drank deeply and ate of his food packet.

How long he had been on that island he could not have told. And time in Avalon and his own world ran differently—had not Merlin said something like that? It seemed as if he had been there for hours, yet just now it was drawing close to sunset.

Dared he try the trip back to shore by night? Eager as he was to be away from the nesting place, Eric was reluctant to set forth from the island. There was too much chance of being carried seaward in the boat. And he was too tired to paddle back. Every bone in his body ached with weariness.

Where
could
he spend the coming night? Eric shrank
from the destroyed nest and the ledges about it. Better return to the sea cave and sleep in the boat, fearful though he had always been of water. And he had also better climb back before night.

Eric began the descent of the well which he had earlier climbed. He had believed the horn safe on its carrying strap. But when a handhold slipped, the strap slithered down from his shoulder and fell free, the horn with it.

Tense, Eric clung where he was, listening for the smash which would mark its landing. But he heard nothing. The thought of the horn's destruction made him so weak he was unable to move, his eyes watered, his stomach churned. What had he done in his carelessness?

All the many times in the past when Mother and Dad, Mrs. Steiner, Uncle Mac, yes, and Greg and Sara, too, had scolded him for being too fast, too impulsive, sang now in his spinning head. If the horn was broken what would happen? What could he say to Merlin and Huon? He had failed in his part of the quest.

Because he could not remain where he was, Eric hunted for the next hold on the wall. The spoon fastened to his belt clanged against the stone, but he did not care. The sky circle above him was dimming rapidly, cutting the light.

Eric descended slowly. If the impossible had happened and the horn had not been splintered to bits when it struck the ground, he had no wish to land on it himself. He clung tightly to the wall as his toes touched the bottom and then looked down and around eagerly.

But here those dim rays from the sky were gone. Eric
went down on his knees and felt about him—then moved his hands faster, sifting sand, coarse gravel between his fingers, finding and discarding stones, until he had searched the whole floor of the well. Nowhere did he touch the leather strap or a battered curve of ivory and metal. The horn had completely disappeared!

Twice he searched the space, unable to believe that the horn was gone. Had the strap caught on some projection of the well wall, he would have brushed against it during his descent. So—

Eric's head was spinning, he was sure of nothing now. After one last sweep of his hands across the floor of the well, he headed back down the narrow passage to the sea cave.

The moist, salt-scented air of the cave puffed in his face, welcome after the ordeal in the nest. At the end of the short passage before he scrambled down to the beach, Eric lingered, peering out. The lapping of sea water against rocks was loud, but he was sure he heard another noise—a click—a grating.

Eric could make out the blot which was his boat, still out of the water as he had left it. He stood quite still, trying to keep the sound of his breathing to the faintest whisper. Although he could see nothing but the bulk of the boat, he believed there was another thing out there, a living creature with perhaps the power and will to attack—or damage—the boat on which his escape from the island depended.

Once again that sound—louder now as if who or what was making it had no reason for concealment. Eric saw a dark
shape flip into the air, outlined against the faint glimmer which marked the sea inlet.

That line ended in a monster claw, a claw which slowly opened and then snapped shut, as if its owner were flexing it before use. Then the clawed limb fell against the boat, and the light craft stirred in the sand, pushing toward the water. Eric knew he must act or the boat would be out in the pool beyond his reach.

His trust lay in the power of iron and he held the spoon as though it were a spear, the end of its bowl the point. Then he rushed that dark thing.

The spoon struck the side of the boat, bouncing off to a dark bulk which flinched and whipped away as if the tool were a branding iron. A jointed leg with its fearsome claw flashed up at Eric. The boy went down on one knee, holding the spoon to counter the blow, as he had held it to ward off the bird's beak. The claw struck forcibly, jamming Eric against the boat where his cheek rubbed raw on its scaled substance.

He cried out in pain, but there was no answer from the thing he fought. Eric could see only a black lump humping to the water. If it were able to escape into the sea, he could expect another attack.

Desperately Eric got to his feet, and holding the spoon over his head he ran forward, bringing the odd weapon down with all his might on the shambling creature. It slumped under the blow. He felt a stinging slash across his leg just below the knee. But he had won; the thing was no longer trying to reach water.

There were scrabbling sounds, as if many legs tried to lift a helpless weight of dying body. Then all was quiet.

Eric could not bring himself to touch the thing; he shrank from knowing what manner of creature he had fought. Sliding the spoon bowl under its bulk, he levered it into the pool. Then once again he felt the tangle of a strap about his foot, and eagerly he dug into the sand where the monster had lain, recovering the horn from where the dead thief had dropped it.